Fair and Good

One of the problems with having quite a few kids (and one of the reasons I think so many people stop with just one) is that it's hard to be fair. I come from a family of two children, so trying to be fair is an issue for me. My wife is from a family of six children, and she recognizes the futility of it.

I come here to write down funny stories and interesting things that happen. And part of me wants to make sure that each one of the boys gets equal time. But it's hard, especially when one of your kids is consistently wacky (nothing personal; 4 and 5 are wacky ages) and another kid is doing important things for the last time.

So, lots of Jonah and Sam stories, not so much Timothy and Stephen. It's not fair, I know, but I didn't have a blog when they were 2 or 5. Such is parenting.

All this is to say that Timothy did two things this week that I'm glad to record and that, frankly, made me very proud to have him as a son.

First, on Sunday, we went to McDonald's for breakfast. Long story short, we had been camping Friday and Saturday, but rain made us come home Saturday night. Sunday was going to be an open house (4 BR, 2.5 BA, priced to sell, call me); my wife drew clean up duty and I drew get-the-boys-out-of-the-house-so-she-can-clean duty. So, into the car the boys and I went and away to McDonald's.

The order: 4 plain biscuits, 4 hash browns, 1 chicken biscuit, 3 chocolate milks, 1 apple juice, 1 large Coke (no, that's no idol worship; it's a proper noun). Except that, because I was ridiculously, zombie-like tired, I only ordered 2 chocolate milks. And I had 26 cents left, which was not enough for another one.

And so, after helping me pass out all the food (Timothy is the official Middle-Seat Helper), he and I realized that we were short one chocolate milk. I asked him, "Could you please give that to Sam, and I'll get you another one in a few minutes?" And he said, without pouting, whining, or any other despondent-type reaction, "Yes."

Now, those of you without kids may think this is no big deal. But this is huge. No crying, no whining, taking one for the team. We call this Sacrifice, and it's fantastic to see in action. I'm proud of my boy.

(Just so you know, Mom, I did stop a few minutes later and got him a humongous chocolate milk at Eckerd.)

Okay, second story. This morning Timothy came downstairs first, while I was on the couch watching the news. We were sitting there talking when a story came on about those #*@^#!&_% who picket soldiers' funerals. On screen, they were showing them with their signs. Not wanting to draw attention to it, I said nothing. The TV showed one sign that said "Thank God for IED's" and another that said "God Hates You."

Timothy saw the last one, got a puzzled look on his face, and said, "That's not right. He does not." And I was so, so very proud of my boy.

(N.B.: have enough Christians denounced these folks yet? C'mon, even our 8-year-olds know these idiots are wrong.)